


You Wrote the Book on Love

by kaguya_yoru



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: Victor held up a finger. “Each of you gets one fantasy,” he said, with a wink, “so think of a good one.”





	1. Yuri

**Author's Note:**

> I was not planning on writing in this fandom at all but this idea took a hold of my brain after watching Yuri Plisetsky's exhibition skate and would not let go. The underage warning is because this takes place the night of the medal ceremony of the Grand Prix Final, at which time Yuri Plisetsky is 15 years old; he meets the age of consent in both Spain, where they currently are in the story, and in his home country of Russia.

“Yuri, are you all right?”

Yuri was startled from his thoughts by the sound of Yakov’s voice. “Huh?” he asked, raising his gaze from the floor to look at him.

They were riding the elevator back to their hotel rooms, the only two people in the car. Finally free from the cheering crowd and the inquisitive reporters, Yuri had fallen silent.

He’d shown everyone what he could do and had come out on top, exactly where he knew he was supposed to be. It was a heady feeling to have proof to back up all his boasts this season, to have broken records and made history.

It was also terrifying.

Yakov studied him a moment and then placed one hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“This is only the beginning, Yuri,” Yakov said, his gruff voice as familiar to him as his own grandfather’s.

Victor had said something similar before his free skate, whispering into his ear after pulling him into his embrace. It had been what he needed at the time, the warmth of Victor’s arms around him and the familiar cadence of their shared native tongue blocking out the sounds of the crowded stadium. Now the sentiment caused his eyes to widen as he stared at his reflection in the polished metal of the elevator door.

He’d achieved in his senior debut what most skaters tried their whole careers to attempt. Had it been like this for Victor when he won for the first time? Had he felt this same crushing weight of expectation for his future career?

His gold medal was heavier than he’d expected around his neck. He loathed to take it off even as he felt strangled by the cord. He'd earned it. He'd poured blood and sweat and tears into his performances and he'd earned the top spot on the podium. So why did it feel so hard to take a breath?

The elevator arrived at their floor and the doors slid open, his reflection disappearing from view. Yakov stepped out of the elevator and then frowned when Yuri didn't immediately follow suit.

“Yuri - ” he started to say.

Yuri pulled himself together, pasting a scowl on his face. “I'm fine,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his training jacket as he stepped off the elevator. “I just need to eat.”

Yakov didn't look convinced. “If you need me - ”

Yuri scoffed, interrupting him again. “Whatever,” he said, turning his back on him and heading in the opposite direction towards his room. Yakov didn't call out to him again and Yuri cast him from his mind.

A shiver went through him as he entered his hotel room; now that he’d finished skating and was away from the crowds, goosebumps were forming on his skin. The sweat from his last performance had dried during the medal ceremony and his costume was sticking uncomfortably to him. After turning up the thermostat a few degrees, he began to undress, grimacing when the fabric of the form fitting costume stuck to his skin. He chose to ignore the fact that he was taking longer than he usually did to remove it, taking much more care with the costume that had won him the gold than he had previously. Once it was off, he hung it carefully on a hanger, ready to be cleaned before his next performance. His medal was placed on the nightstand where it glinted dully in the light of the table lamp.

He quickly turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, sighing as the hot water cascaded over his skin. It wasn't as good as the _onsen_ in Hasetsu, which had been utter bliss to slip into after a day of practice, but he felt his muscles start to unwind regardless. He spent a moment just reveling in the tension slipping away before he reached for his hair products.

After rinsing the last of the conditioner from his hair, he turned his attention to his body. It felt good to work the soap into his skin, getting rid of the day’s layer of grime. His hands lingered as he moved them over his limbs and torso. With his slim frame and almost feminine features, Lilia’s goal of turning him into a prima ballerina had been an achievable one. He was only fifteen. Someday soon his body would start to change, throwing off his technique and altering what programs he could believably perform, and he would be forced to change with it. The ever changing beautiful monster was what they’d called him throughout this Grand Prix series. What would happen when his voice fell and his shoulders broadened? Who would he be then?

He stared blankly at the tiles of the shower, hands halting on his flat abdomen. Would he still be beautiful?

Yuri blinked, aware of his surroundings once more. He reached out and shut off the shower with a sharp twist of the handle. Suddenly furious with himself, he slammed the shower door open and yanked a towel from the rack, cursing loudly in Russian when the edge of it hit the bottles of toiletries lined up on the counter, sending them tumbling to the floor. He quickly dried himself off and stomped into the bedroom, pulling on a simple black T-shirt and shorts before throwing himself onto the bed. There was a new text message waiting for him when he grabbed his phone and he scowled when he saw it was from Victor. When he opened it, there were no words, just a video attachment. Yuri absentmindedly stretched one leg towards the ceiling as he hit play, wondering what Victor was up to now.

Victor popped into sight, his wide smile stretching across his face. “Congratulations!” he said brightly, his voice only mildly distorted by the speaker on Yuri’s phone. He looked like he was in a hotel room but the decor looked much nicer than the one Yuri was currently in. “Yuuri and I have a little proposition for you to celebrate everyone’s success today.”

For a brief second, Yuri was confused until the camera moved and Yuuri popped into view. There was a blush darkening his cheeks and he looked thoroughly embarrassed. _"Ano,"_ he stuttered before switching to English. “Please come to room 1006.”

Something shifted in his eyes and his gaze darkened behind his glasses. It was like the moment before the start of his Eros performance, when Yuuri’s entire demeanor would change, leaving an alluring stranger in his wake.

“Phichit Chulanont. Christophe Giacometti. Yuri Plisetsky.” Yuuri’s voice had deepened. A shiver went through Yuri that had nothing to do with being cold at the sound of his name from Yuuri’s lips. “Otabek Altin.”

A smirk came to Yuuri’s lips. “Please join us,” he said before the screen went black.

Yuri’s eyes widened. He checked the other recipients of the group text and it corresponded with the names listed in the video. His phone chimed with another incoming text message and he quickly thumbed it open.

_Otabek: Are you going?_

Yuri chewed on his bottom lip, his leg drifting downwards to rest on the bed. There was nothing specific that he could point to in the video but the invitation from Yuuri had seemed… sexual. He wasn't naive; he knew what skaters got up to after the competitions were over. He had even been part of the wild banquet last year, participating in the dance off with Yuuri that had somehow devolved into a striptease with Chris. In the end though, he'd gone back to his hotel room alone, face flushed, heart pounding, and his necktie hanging loose around his neck.

This wasn't frivolity after a night of drinking and socializing; this was a deliberate invitation to a select few. A private party to which he'd been specifically invited. He scowled as a warm glow settled in his chest and hurriedly typed back a response.

_Yuri: Are you?_

The reply took several minutes to pop up on Yuri’s phone during which butterflies began to flutter in his stomach. He'd hadn't done anything like this before, too focused on his skating. He had plenty of fans who would have been willing but he hated their cloying admiration with no substance behind it. More than once, he’d thought about doing something with one of his rinkmates but in the end hadn't felt it was worth the bother.

_Otabek: Only if you do._

Yuri blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, absurdly pleased that Otabek was following his lead on this. The thought brought him up short. Did he want to do this?

Playing the video again, Yuri paid closer attention. On a second viewing, there was no mistaking the look in Yuuri’s eyes; he'd seen it often enough rinkside, after all. It stirred something within him and he wanted to know if his suspicions were true, whether this offer was what he thought it was.

_Yuri: I'll see you there._

He scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly, throwing on his black jeans and beloved tiger shirt. It was only when he was frowning in the mirror at what to do with his hair that he realized he should slow down. No reason for him to be the first to arrive after all; it wouldn't do for him to look overeager. He forced himself to take his time, smoothing product into his air to control the flyaways and contemplating how to style it. During his shower, he’d taken out the plaits that had been woven into his hair for his performance. He dismissed redoing them right away; he wasn't as good as Lilia at doing them himself and the style made him look too young. He pulled his hair up into the half bun he sometimes did during practice to keep the strands out of his face and made a face at the result. Again, it made him look several years younger. In the end he left his hair long, liking the way he could hide his expression behind the blond strands.

Yuri reached for his team jacket and then hesitated. His fans sometimes lurked around the hotel after competitions, waiting to see if they could follow him back to his hotel room. He grabbed his black hoodie instead and zipped it tight, making sure his blond hair was tucked out of sight under the hood.

He checked his phone. Forty five minutes had passed since he’d first watched the video; he'd spent longer contemplating his hair than he'd thought. Surely, that had been long enough for someone else to have shown up at their room by now. His nerves jangled and he shoved his fists into the pockets of his hoodie, standing still for a moment in the center of the room, trying to calm himself. With a stifled frustrated shout at the tension still thrumming through his body, he stomped over to the door only to have to turn right around when he reached it in order to scoop his phone and key card off the nightstand where he'd left them. He paused a moment to trail a finger along the surface of his gold medal, reminding himself that it was real, before he headed out the hotel room door.

He was only a few floors down from them and he didn't have to wait long for the elevator to arrive. Yuri avoided looking at his reflection as the car ascended, too busy trying to calm the surge of nerves he felt. When he stepped off the elevator, he noticed there were fewer doors on the tenth floor than on his own; each one must lead to a suite rather a single room. He found 1006 quickly and rang the doorbell before he could change his mind.

Victor flung open the door. “Yuri!” he exclaimed with a wide smile. “I'm glad you came.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “What's this about, Victor? I could be sleeping, you know.”

Victor let out a bright laugh and ushered him inside. “I doubt that,” he said, an amused expression on his face. “I remember what that first win felt like.”

“A billion years ago for you,” Yuri muttered uncharitably as he moved further inside. He'd been right about it being a suite. The entryway opened onto a living area on his right with a couch facing a coffee table and a couple of armchairs. A small desk was tucked into a corner with a single chair in front of it. There was an archway to his left that Yuri guessed led to the bathroom and bedroom. A carpet so plush his feet sank slightly with every step covered the floor.

Phichit was already sitting on the couch but no one else seemed to have arrived yet. Yuri tamped down another surge of nerves and made his way to one of the armchairs as Victor disappeared through the archway. From where he was sitting, Yuri couldn’t see what was beyond it. 

“Where’s Katsudon?” he asked, trying to sound demanding but to his horror, coming across more as petulant instead.

Phichit looked up from scrolling through his cell phone. “I think he’s in the bedroom,” he answered. “You know, I didn’t expect you to come.”

There was nothing but mild curiosity in his voice but Yuri bristled regardless. “Why not?”

Phichit shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned by the hostility in Yuri’s voice. “I don’t know,” he said, turning his attention back to his phone. “You and Otabek seemed to be close. I figured you would do something together to celebrate.” 

Another traitorous blush heated Yuri’s cheeks and he sent a scowl Phichit’s way even though the other skater wasn’t paying any attention to him anymore. He didn’t understand why his heart was beating a little faster in his chest at the implication in Phichit’s words. The doorbell rang again and Victor bounded into view, as riled up as Makkachin got sometimes. Yuri peered at the archway curiously while Victor spoke to whoever was at the door but Yuuri didn’t appear.

The voices got louder and Victor came back into view, Christophe and Otabek accompanying him. Christophe was laughing at something Victor had said while Otabek had his customary reserved expression on his face. His gaze shifted, landing on Yuri, and Yuri felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re all here!” Victor said, delighted, and clapped his hands together. Otabek settled in the other armchair and Christophe threw himself on the couch besides Phichit, the jostle of his landing causing Phichit to finally look up and put his phone away.

“What are you up to, Victor?” Christophe asked. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this.”

Victor leaned against the wall opposite the coffee table so that he could face all of them, still smiling. “That was just for fun, Chris,” he said, raising a finger and wagging it back and forth. “This is me also being a good coach.” 

Yuri looked between Victor and Christophe, wondering what they were talking about. Even Christophe looked puzzled, brows furrowing as he waited for Victor to explain himself.

“As you know, Yuuri’s theme was ‘Love’ this year and I choreographed his short program about Eros.” Victor’s smile grew more intimate and his voice lowered. “Sexual love. Pleasure followed by pleasure.”

There was a sudden tension in the air of the hotel suite. Yuri found himself holding his breath and forced himself to breathe in and out.

Victor held up a finger. “Each of you gets one fantasy,” he said, with a wink, “so think of a good one.”

Phichit was one to break the silence. “Umh, what?” He looked as bewildered as Yuri felt.

“I’ve seen the way you look at Yuuri,” Victor said, his gaze settling on each of them in turn. “I know you’ve thought about what you would do if you had the chance.” He spread his hands. “Here’s your chance.”

“Let me get this straight,” Phichit said slowly. “Each of us has a chance to do anything we want to Yuuri...sexually.” He stuttered over the last word and his eyebrows rose towards his hairline. “And you’re both okay with this?”

“No penetration,” Victor replied gamely, “and it happens here in this room in front of everyone. Those are the rules Yuuri agreed to.” He looked around at them. “You can leave right now if you’re not interested.”

Nobody moved.

With as flushed as he felt, Yuri thought his face must be fire engine red. He ducked his head to hide it and peered out from behind his fringe of hair to other occupants of the room. Christophe looked amused, his gaze on Victor. Phichit was biting his lip as he played with his phone, his expression conflicted. And Otabek…

Otabek was staring straight at him, expression unreadable. Yuri found himself caught by his dark gaze, unable to look away. He could feel his pulse speed up, those butterflies once again making themselves known in his belly.

Victor clapped his hands together again, startling Yuri into breaking their stare. He could still feel the weight of Otabek’s gaze on him and it warmed him in ways he couldn’t begin to interpret.

“Wonderful!” Victor cried with an elated expression on his face. “I’ll just go get Yuuri.”

The room was quiet when Victor disappeared through the archway. Yuri avoided looking at anyone, unsure why he’d stayed but unwilling to leave. Victor had said that he’d caught each of them looking at Yuuri but he couldn’t remember any specific instance of him doing anything of the sort. Last year’s banquet came to his mind and he bit his lip, remembering how keyed up he’d been when he’d gotten back to his hotel room. In the shower afterwards, his hand had inevitably traveled downwards and he’d eventually come with the image of tight abs and toned thighs flashing through his mind. That hadn’t been the only time; whenever he needed a release, that image had been waiting to give him the push he needed over the edge.

After a moment, Phichit spoke up. “What did you mean, that you hadn’t done this in a while?” he asked hesitantly of Christophe.

Christophe was looking towards the archway where Victor had disappeared but appeared lost in thought. “Hmm,” he murmured before focusing his gaze on Phichit. “Victor and I have done a lot of competitions together,” he said, “and sometimes we’ve teamed up afterwards to celebrate. More than once, they’ve gotten pretty wild.”

“Oh,” Phichit said faintly, eyes wide.

Christophe tilted his head, still pensive. “This is something new though. I didn’t expect Yuuri to go along with this side of Victor.”

Phichit’s gaze sharpened. In that instant, Yuri could see his best friend instincts roar to the surface. “Do you think he’s pressuring Yuuri?”

Christophe immediately shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “I just - ”

At that moment, Victor reentered the room with Yuuri following close behind him. He was carrying a tray with a stack of rolled up hand towels which he placed on the coffee table. As he set it down, Yuri noticed there was a small bottle with a pump handle next to the towels. With a jolt, Yuri realized that the bottle was lube and he quickly looked away.

Victor went to perch on the armrest of the couch nearest Christophe, leaning his back against the wall. Yuuri remained in front of them, standing in the same space Victor had been in earlier.

“Umh,” Yuuri said into the silence. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, Yuri noted, and his brown eyes seemed bigger as a result. “Thanks for coming.” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said and a blush rose to his cheeks, staining them a rosy red.

Phichit let out a sputtered laugh. Christophe grinned, shaking his head. Victor pressed a finger to his lips, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Otabek and Yuri were the only ones who didn’t react. As far as Yuri knew, Otabek wasn’t prone to smiling in general. In his case, Yuri was too busy staring at Yuuri.

There was an emotion rising within him, hot and bubbling. This was his night. He’d trained, pushing his body to the limit, so that he could win gold. And somehow, despite all that, this night had become all about Yuuri.

He was on his feet before he realized it. In the next moment, his hands connected with Yuuri’s chest, pushing with every ounce of his strength. They were both dancers, trained to keep their footing, but Yuuri had been caught off-guard. He teetered for a breathless moment and then hit the ground hard, just barely catching himself by placing his hands behind him. Yuuri stared up at him, his mouth falling open in shock. His dark blue shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a narrow strip of bronze skin above the waistband of his black jeans.

Silence abruptly fell over the room. Yuri’s hands were balled into fists as he stared down at Yuuri, his eyes locked on that little glimpse of skin. He could feel tremors traveling through his body and there was a roaring in his ears. Stepping forward, he placed his feet on either side of Yuuri’s hips and gracefully folded his legs, continuing down until he was resting lightly in Yuuri’s lap. The stretch of his thigh muscles over Yuuri’s hips made something twist low in his gut. He kept his eyes glued on Yuuri’s abdomen, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

A long moment passed with nobody saying or doing anything. Then Yuri felt Yuuri exhale, the puff of air pressing the strands of his hair briefly against his cheek.

“You’re shaking,” Yuuri said softly.

“Shut up,” Yuri shot back but his voice came out just as soft. He grasped the fabric of Yuuri’s T-shirt at the shoulders and balled it in his fists, the action causing it to rise another inch, exposing more of Yuuri’s abdomen. “And take this off.”

Another exhalation from Yuuri stirred Yuri’s hair but it was shakier this time. He moved forward suddenly, causing Yuri to release the shirt and startle backwards in surprise, but it was only so that he could grasp the bottom of the shirt and pull it up and off. Then his torso was bare in front of Yuri, the chest and abs he’d tried so hard to forget up close and personal. Yuri’s hands hovered in the air between them as his heart pounded in his chest. There were so many emotions tangled up inside of him and he had no idea how to sort through them all.

“Yurio,” Yuuri said, his voice so kind it made Yuri grit his teeth, “you don’t have to do this.”

Once again, Yuri’s hand moved quicker than he could think, tangling in Yuuri’s coarse black hair and pulling it sharply. He raised his eyes and met Yuuri’s startled gaze, feeling the maelstrom of emotions inside him settling into a poised calm.

“That’s not,” Yuri said quietly but firmly, “my name.”

Yuri didn’t miss the sudden dilation of Yuuri’s pupils or the quick intake of breath through his parted lips. And suddenly, what he wanted was crystal clear to him. He wanted to recreate the way he’d felt earlier tonight during his free skate. He wanted all eyes on him. He wanted to be wanted in the way Yuuri was wanted by everyone in the room.

He wanted to be beautiful.

He looked beyond Yuuri. Otabek’s dark gaze burned into his own, lighting a fire within him.

Yuri moved his hand to Yuuri’s shoulder and pushed. “Lie down and don’t move,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Otabek. He waited until Yuuri was lying completely flat on the soft carpet and then extended his hand towards Otabek, fingers spread.

Otabek’s eyes narrowed. _"Are you sure?"_ he asked, his accent imparting a different emphasis to the Russian words than Yuri was used to.

Yuri gave him an unimpressed look. _"It’s my fantasy,"_ he replied stubbornly.

Without another word, Otabek rose from his chair and made his way over to them, placing his hand in Yuri’s. With a gentle tug from Yuri, Otabek was sliding to his knees, letting the movement carry him forward until their lips were only inches away. He let go of Yuri’s hand to smooth the hood away from Yuri’s face, cupping Yuri’s jaw with both hands after it had fallen to his shoulders.

Yuri caught his breath at the piercing look in Otabek’s eyes. There had been no hesitation to any of Otabek’s movements and Yuri felt the rest of the world slip away as Otabek lowered his mouth. The first touch of Otabek’s lips seared through him, shocking in its intensity, and Yuri couldn’t help the soft moan he breathed into his mouth. Otabek’s thumbs pressed into Yuri’s chin, gently encouraging him to part his lips. Yuri slid his hand around the back of Otabek’s neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. At the first flicker of Otabek’s tongue at the seam of his lips, he moaned louder, his hips moving restlessly as lust heated his blood and sent it rushing south.

A choked off sound drew Yuri’s attention and he pulled back slightly to look down. Yuuri’s eyes had darkened even more in arousal and he looked slightly stunned, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Experimentally, Yuri pressed his hips downwards in a slow grind and a strangled moan fell from Yuuri’s mouth, his hands clenching involuntarily at his sides.

_"What do you want, Yuri?"_ Otabek breathed out. His breaths were coming slightly faster and his gaze hadn’t moved from Yuri’s face.

A thrill went through Yuri at the desire in his eyes. He slid his hand into the short hairs at the nape of Otabek’s neck and leaned forward to kiss him again, opening his mouth immediately at the slide of Otabek’s tongue against his lips. A jolt went through him at the breach of his mouth by said tongue and he pressed closer, wanting more. Otabek didn’t disappoint, sweeping into his mouth with purpose, mapping out every corner, until Yuri was dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Otabek broke off the kiss with a muffled curse even as his hands tightened around Yuri’s jaw.

Yuri slumped against him, eyes closed, his forehead resting on Otabek’s shoulder, feeling the blood racing through his body. He could smell Otabek’s unique scent, leather and spice, and it did nothing to clear his head. Up until now, he’d tried to ignore the insistent ache of his cock, pressed against the zipper of his jeans, not wanting this to be over too soon. The pressure was almost too much now and he shifted, trying to relieve it. A low groan met his efforts and Yuri’s eyes shot open as he remembered just who was under him. The evidence of Yuuri’s desire was unmistakeable, hard and hot against him.

Belatedly, Yuri remembered Otabek’s question and roused himself. He had a fantasy he wanted fulfilled after all.

He lifted his eyes to meet Otabek’s gaze. _"Get behind me,"_ he said. One of Otabek’s thumbs swept across Yuri’s cheekbone and then he nodded. As Otabek got into position, Yuri quickly unzipped and discarded his hoodie, grateful to be rid of the warm garment. Otabek was pressed against him a moment later, his face tucking into the curve of his neck, lips pressing against the skin. Otabek’s hands strayed to Yuri’s waist, slipping under his T-shirt to run along his flat abdomen.

Yuri closed his eyes at the sensation but quickly opened them again, not wanting to be deterred from his goal. Leaning forward slightly, he ran his hands down Yuuri’s chest, mapping the differences in his physique versus his own. He’d had no interest in any of the female fans who had thrown themselves at him since his junior debut and the way he felt now, a shivering desire licking through his veins with Otabek pressed to his back and Yuuri between his thighs, only confirmed a long held suspicion. Yuuri let out a shaky breath as Yuri circled one brown nipple, the nub hardening when he ran his fingers over it. Pinching it drew a wavering moan from Yuuri’s lips and a tensing of his thighs as he tried not to thrust his hips in response. Turning his attention to the other one as well, Yuri plucked and teased them until Yuuri broke composure completely, his hands moving to clutch at Yuri’s thighs and his hips bucking upwards.

“Y-Yurio,” he groaned, “p-please.”

“Shut up,” Yuri said with savage pleasure, continuing to tease Yuuri’s nipples without mercy. _"And you,"_ he threw the Russian words over his shoulder, _"what are you waiting for? Touch me!"_

_"I didn’t think you wanted this to be over so quickly."_

It took a moment for the words to sink in and then Yuri was twisting his upper body to look at Otabek, completely forgetting about Yuuri in the process. Otabek looked back at him calmly, as if he hadn’t just insulted Yuri’s prowess in bed.

_"What the hell? Who do you think you are?"_ Otabek looked impassively back at him, expression unchanging. Yuri glowered. _"Touch me, dammit!"_

Otabek’s lips crashed down onto his. Yuri opened his mouth greedily, welcoming Otabek’s tongue with his own. The heel of one of Otabek’s palms pressed against his aching cock and Yuri couldn’t help but grind into the welcome pressure, his hips moving without his conscious thought. Waves of pleasure crashed through him with every thrust of his hips, each one deeper and stronger than the last. At the same time, Otabek’s other hand traveled to one of his nipples, giving it a vicious hard pinch.

Yuri’s entire body jolted as the sensation went straight to his dick and he was coming before he quite realized it, with a strangled yowl into Otabek’s mouth and one hand fisting Otabek’s shirt.


	2. Phichit

Even in the midst of orgasm, Yuri was just so _pretty_. 

The line of Yuri’s upper body was elegant as he twisted within Otabek’s embrace, his soft moans muffled by Otabek’s lips. His blond tresses curled artfully around the delicate curve of his jaw. Yuri’s hand was clenched so tight in the fabric of Otabek’s shirt that it distorted the line of his collar, flashing a glimpse of previously unseen alluring brown skin. With a final soft whimper, Yuri slumped against Otabek’s chest, breathing heavily in the aftermath of climax, and Otabek’s posture changed slightly, his hands flattening against Yuri’s body, his body curving inward in an unconsciously protective gesture. With his larger body bracketing Yuri’s more delicate one, Otabek should have been the one in control and yet he looked lost, his typically harsh features softened, eyelashes fanning over the arch of his cheekbones.

“Well,” Phichit heard Chris murmur, his amusement obvious. “That was quick.”

There was a moment of absolute stillness in the room and then Yuri exploded into action, shoving Otabek hard away from him so that he went sprawling in a near mirror image of Yuuri. Leaping to his feet, he spat out a stream of rapid fire Russian at Otabek, green eyes flashing in fury, the muscles of his neck clenched tight.

“Oh.”

Phichit glanced over at the sound of Victor’s voice. He was perched on the sofa’s armrest, a small smile on his face and one finger pressed thoughtfully to his lips. When he noticed Phichit looking at him, the corners of his eyes crinkled and he sent a wink in Phichit’s direction.

Phichit quickly faced forward, feeling a blush heat his cheeks. Even now, he was still somewhat in awe of the living legend. When he’d received Victor’s text, he’d been flattered, thinking that the invitation was a way for all of them to blow off steam before the exhibitions and official banquet. He’d thought it would be something similar to what they had all shared the night before, an exchange of good food and risque stories, with perhaps some alcohol now that the competition was over.

The only part he’d gotten right had been the risque part.

Yuri finally ran out of steam and was left standing with one finger pointing accusingly at Yuuri. His gaze had been trained on Otabek for the entirety of his rant, green eyes narrowed in a furious glare. His body fairly vibrated with tension, nostrils flaring with quick, shallow breaths, and two pink splotches high on his cheeks.

Otabek rose from the sprawl he’d landed in after Yuri’s shove. He and Yuri were of similar heights and yet Yuri tried his best to stare him down, brows drawn together in his fury. Otabek’s reply to Yuri’s diatribe was short and succinct, his voice deep and rumbling. In Russian, of course, so that Phichit had no hope of understanding what he said.

Yuri’s eyes widened. For a split second, there was a look of such raw vulnerability on his face that Phichit was reminded of just how young he was despite all of his bluster and bravado. Then again, competing seriously as figure skaters had made them all grow up quickly; it was hard to have a childhood with the grueling schedule they had to commit to in order to win.

In the next moment, Yuri turned on his heel and sprinted out of the suite, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang.

Moving to a kneeling position, Yuuri’s gaze flitted between Otabek and the direction of the front door of the hotel suite, concern causing his brows to draw together. A single muscle jumped in Otabek’s jaw, the only outward sign of his emotions. Then, without looking at anyone else, he turned to follow Yuri out of the suite.

“Otabek!” Victor jumped to his feet and rushed to Otabek’s side, murmuring to him in low, quick Russian. Otabek’s expression didn’t change as they walked towards the door, jaw clenched tight as he listened to Victor’s words.

Phichit waited until they had disappeared around the corner before scrambling out of his seat. Unlike the others, he and Yuuri only had the English language in common; they had taught each other a few phrases in their native languages but neither could carry on a conversation. Annoyed that he couldn’t hide his words from Chris, Phichit settled for speaking in a low voice.

“Yuuri,” he hissed once he had fallen to his knees on the floor next to Yuuri. “What are you doing? You’re getting married!”

A blush bloomed on Yuuri’s cheeks. _“Ano,”_ he stuttered. “Well, not until I win gold…”

Phichit looked around but Victor hadn’t returned yet. “Is Victor pushing you to do this? You never did anything like this in Detroit.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “No!” he almost shouted. His blush deepened at how loud he’d spoken. “No,” he repeated in a softer voice, running his hands through his hair to push it back from his face. “This season, Victor helped me to realize how much I had closed myself off. He’s helping me.”

Phichit tilted his head, confused. “How?”

Yuuri dropped his gaze. “Do you remember, back in Detroit, when you told me about skating to _The Skater and I_ in a major competition?” he murmured. “I was so happy that you thought that I would be there too.”

“Of course!” Phichit placed his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, a smile coming to his lips at the thought. “You’re my best friend!”

“I was so happy,” Yuuri repeated as he raised his gaze to meet Phichit’s. He bit his lip before saying his next words in a rush. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Phichit was suddenly acutely aware of the warmth of the bronzed skin underneath the palm of his hand, the roundness of the muscle of Yuuri’s shoulder. He sucked in a quick breath as his heart sped up in his chest.

“You,” Phichit swallowed, hard, “you did?”

Yuuri’s brown eyes were warm and imploring, filling his field of vision. He licked his lips and Phichit felt a tug low in his gut at the sight of them shiny and wet.

“I want to kiss you,” Yuuri said.

Phichit blinked. Then he felt his mouth spread into a wide grin, heart bursting with happiness. “Okay!”

He wrapped his hand around Yuuri’s neck and hauled him forward. He was still smiling when Yuuri’s mouth met his so that there was a confusing moment when Yuuri’s lips met his teeth but then Phichit managed to get his own lips under control. Yuuri’s lips parted, whether in invitation or just surprised, and Phichit swooped in to take advantage, working his tongue in to taste the sweetness of Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri’s hands came up to Phichit’s chest - he pressed forward eagerly, wishing impatiently to feel them against his bare skin - and then Phichit’s stomach dropped suddenly in disappointment when Yuuri pushed him away instead, breaking away from his mouth with a ragged gasp.

“Phichit- _kun_!” Yuuri’s eyes were wide and startled and confusion and panic spiked in Phichit’s chest at the sight.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuuri’s breaths were still ragged, his chest heaving up and down. It was rather distracting, considering just moments ago his nipples had been played with by Yuri and they were still peaked and flushed, but Phichit forced his gaze to remain on Yuuri’s face. “You kissed me!”

The confusion worsened. “I - ” Phicht said, brows drawing together. “Didn’t you say you wanted to kiss me?”

“But I didn’t think _you_ wanted to kiss _me_.”

Phichit couldn’t help it. He burst into peals of laughter at the absolute bafflement on Yuuri’s face. “Ah, Yuuri,” he said, wiping a tear away from one of his eyes. “If you only knew how many times I jerked off to the thought of you while we were roommates.”

A flush immediately stained Yuuri’s cheeks and his hands curled, the pads of his fingertips just digging into Phichit’s chest.

Phichit leaned in until his forehead was resting against Yuuri’s. “I want to do more than just kiss you, Yuuri,” he said, letting his voice fall into a lower register.

The shaky inhale of breath let Phichit know just how much Yuuri liked that idea. Taking that for encouragement, Phichit covered the short distance between them and resumed their kiss. This time, Yuuri surged upwards when their lips met, eagerly moving his mouth against his own. Phichit groaned when their tongues met, twining around each other as the kiss deepened.

It was the soft murmur of French that reminded Phichit that they had an audience. He broke off the kiss to trail his lips down the column of Yuuri’s throat, head tilted so that he could cast his gaze towards the couch. At some point, Victor had returned and was perched on the arm of the sofa, despite there being plenty of options for him to sit, that small enigmatic smile on his face. Phichit shifted his gaze to Chris and caught his breath. There was no other word for it: Chris looked hungry, eyes hooded and dark, as if he wanted to devour the two of them whole.

The thought made Phichit’s cock stiffen even more, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He’d known for some time that the thought of someone watching him turned him on but the reality was so much headier than even his imagination could conjure up. He sucked and nibbled his way back up Yuuri’s throat, loving the soft sounds he was eliciting, until he reached Yuuri’s ear.

“Suck,” Phichit whispered, resting the pads of two of his fingers against Yuuri’s plump lips. Without hesitation, Yuuri’s tongue flicked out to draw them inside and Phichit had to blow out a harsh breath at how readily Yuuri followed his instructions. He tugged gently at the sensitive skin of Yuuri’s neck with his teeth as a reward, causing Yuuri to let out a muffled moan.

When they were slick enough, Phichit slipped his fingers free. “Let them see,” he said softly into Yuuri’s ear before gently knocking one of Yuuri’s arms to the side to bare his chest to Victor’s and Chris’s view. Phichit captured Yuuri’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss while he trailed the wet fingers down Yuuri’s neck until he reached a nipple. Pulling back so that he could see Yuuri’s expression, he gently brushed against the small nub.

Yuuri immediately arched into the touch, eyes falling shut and lips parting on a shaky gasp. Earlier, Yuri had been pretty merciless in his attention and Phichit could just imagine how sensitive they were now. “Phichit- _kun_ ,” Yuuri said, breathy and pleading, his torso twisting as he seemingly fought the urge to move closer and further away.

And oh, Phichit had wanted to draw this out, to take advantage of this once in a lifetime to act out his fantasy, but it was all too much. The excitement of making it to the Grand Prix Final, of hearing Yuuri say his name in a way he’d always dreamed, of being _watched_ had him too close to the edge. He was not going to waste this chance by coming in his pants like Yuri had.

Reluctantly, Phichit pulled his hand away and tugged off his shirt so that both of their chests were bare. “Come on, Yuuri,” he said, giggling a little with a mixture of giddiness and nerves. “Take off your pants.”

Yuuri blushed again but dutifully dropped his hands to the fastening of his jeans. Phichit knew for a fact that Yuuri was in no way body shy - something that had contributed to Phichit’s wank fodder in Detroit - but he could admit it was different stripping to change clothes in a locker room than getting naked for sex. Despite the fact that he was eager to get to the main event, Phichit couldn’t help but kiss Yuuri again when they were both down to their boxer briefs, his bright red and Yuuri’s solid black. Yuuri’s kisses were addictive, passionate yet somehow still sweet. He made soft little moans every time Phichit swirled his tongue and god, Yuuri hadn’t really touched him yet but he was already so hard. 

Phichit let his hand trail down Yuuri’s chest again, briefly deviating to circle a nipple just to feel Yuuri gasp again into his mouth, until his fingers were at the elastic waistband of his underwear. He could feel the hot heat of Yuuri near his palm, years of fantasy crashing into reality, and he didn’t know who groaned louder when he finally let his hand cup Yuuri’s length.

“Phichit- _kun_ ,” Yuuri moaned, eyelids fluttering as he thrust his hips against Phichit’s palm.

Another murmur of French brought his attention back to the two people watching. The sheer intensity of Chris’s gaze had him burying his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, feeling overwhelmed all of the sudden. It wasn’t as if he were a virgin himself and he liked to think that he was pretty sexually adventurous but he’d never had so many fantasies being fulfilled at one time. “Touch me, Yuuri,” Phichit gasped. “Yuuri, please.”

He thought that Yuuri would be shy and follow his lead by going for a nipple first. Instead, Yuuri’s hand plunged straight into his underwear, grasping his cock in a firm stroke from base to tip that had him immediately leaking precome and arching his back at the glorious sensation. Phichit lifted his head to find that Yuuri’s eyes had grown dark and sultry, the look sending a jolt of desire through him. Desperate to regain some equal ground and distract himself from the orgasm in his all too near future, Phichit quickly slid his hand into Yuuri’s boxer briefs. His hand closing around Yuuri’s length caused Yuuri’s eyelids to fall to half-mast, making his gaze just that more devastating.

Phichit looked down and the sight of Yuuri’s hand pumping his cock was even better than in his fantasies. There was no need for lube because white precome steadily beaded at the tip and slipped down the sides of his shaft and Yuuri’s knuckles before the sweep of Yuuri’s hand smoothed it down his length. He groaned, his cock jerking hard at the jolt of desire that went through his lower abdomen.

“Is this what you wanted?” Yuuri asked breathlessly.

Phichit could hear the hint of anxiety in Yuuri’s voice that he could never manage to fully get rid of and so he rushed to respond. “I like to be watched,” he admitted. “Just keep looking at me.”

For some reason, that made Yuuri stop what he was doing entirely, his hand trailing away Phichit’s cock to travel along the edge of the elastic band of his underwear.

Phichit shivered at the lingering touch and slowed his own hand to a stop, although he kept it loosely clasped around the base of Yuuri’s cock. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

Yuuri bit his lip. “I have an idea,” he said hesitantly.

“If it involves you putting your hand back on my dick, I’m all for it,” Phichit replied earnestly.

Yuuri let out a laugh, his eyes sparkling. Phichit forced himself to smile too but in all seriousness, his cock was _aching_ for Yuuri’s touch. Yuuri leaned forward and firmly grasped the waistband of Phichit’s boxer briefs, Phichit lifting his hips to help him slide them down and off. Yuuri quickly shed his own underwear and then settled onto the carpet facing Victor and Chris, legs spread wide. “Come and sit here, Phichit- _kun_ ,” he said, patting the carpeted floor between his thighs.

For a moment, Phichit allowed himself just to look. Yuuri’s bangs just brushed the top of his hooded eyes, his thick cock curved towards his flat abdomen, and his muscular thighs beckoned enticingly. The sudden confidence emanating from him made Phichit want to crawl over there and taste that cock for himself, to see Yuuri fall apart under his hands and tongue.

But Yuuri was offering him a much greater gift and Phichit couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. Settling in between Yuuri’s thighs, he caught his breath when he felt Yuuri’s wet cock press against his lower back and couldn’t hold back a groan when Yuuri’s hand gently cupped his hard cock.

The soft puff of Yuuri’s breath against his ear made him shiver. “Look at them, Phichit- _kun_.”

It took all he had to drag his eyes from the sight of Yuuri’s hand resuming his firm strokes. He couldn’t look at Victor for too long, still a little starstruck by his very presence in the room. But Chris -

Chris was sex personified and his gaze was so hot that it seemed to scorch his skin. Phichit couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into Yuuri’s strokes, completely out of his control, and moans tumbled from his lips. He lost himself in Chris’s green eyes, feeling as if he were burning up, his climax so close that he could practically taste it.

And then Yuuri spoke, his voice pitched to carry across the room. “Enjoying the show, Chris?”

Phichit could actually feel his eyes widen. His heart hammered in his chest and he couldn’t even breathe as he waited for Chris’s response.

Chris’s mouth quirked. His pink tongue dragged across his bottom lip, leaving it shiny and wet. _”Oui.”_

Phichit’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body shook apart into the single best orgasm of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments are welcome. You can find me on [Tumblr](http://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/). If you want an idea of when I might be updating next, go [here](https://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/tagged/kaguya-fics).


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